How To Lie {OHSHC}

How To Relate

Tears, from both frustration and anger , welled in my eyes. They stung as I tried to force them back. The little droplets of water managing to slip by blended into the sweat that ran down my face, neck and body.

I fell, hands collapsing to the blue not-so cushioned hard matts on the dojo floor.

"Again." My Father ordered. Shaking, I stood up. The black belt boy in front of me, looked to me apologetically.

He had been training me since I was small; he knew the drill. Each day after work and school comes five hours of practice. It would be longer on the weekends.

My schedule was school, Host Club, Dinner, Practice. Bed. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

That wasn't his fault. I had a weak immune system. A new environment, OR illness, could be the end of me.

The famous saying I've heard is "Shogenai" or "It cannot be helped". A simple, yet deep, meaning to it. It's said over and over as I tried to convince myself that I live and breath for the Kage Group.

Again, I was thrown to the matt. I landed on my back, the wind being knocked out of me. I gagged, coughing and spitting to catch my breathe.

My body ached. It was bruised and strained from the forms I had practiced today. And yet they we're the things I practices everyday.

The only difference? Today, I had been given news.

Bad news.

"Enough." My father sighed in disappointment. I stood, facing him with my head down. "Antoinette, lift your head." I did as I was told. He glared to me, keeping his eyebrows firmly knitted together.

"You admire Tamaki's art? Is that correct?"

"His... Art?"

"The French Artworks."

"Oh." I closed my eyes. He referred to anything having to do with my Mother or France as Tamaki's fault or doing. I presumed that was partly my fault. "Yes. I plan to study art."

"Tamaki art?"

"French impressionism, sir. I have already mastered oil pastel and paints on canvas'." I explained. I then cleared my throat, "I mean, art is something that Mother taught me. I love it for that reason."

"I see." He nodded. It was odd. Why would be bring up French art?

"And do you love Tamaki?"

My face burned. What the heck? How was I supposed to answer that?

"Yes sir, I love the Suou family, in general."

"And Ootori Kyoya?" My face darkened. I had never thought about them like that. Tamaki was my older brother figure. Of course I loved him.

"Sir?" I answered. Ootori Kyoya? "I don't know."

I mean, my heart always sped up, I'm always eager to have a snappy remark to his comments... But does that mean I'm in love? I didn't think so. But then again, what do I really know?

Then, my Father held out his hand. I starred down to it. Was I to take it?

I reached out. Before grasping his hand, his leg shot up, swiping under me. He twisted my arm and I collapsed to the ground crying out in pain.

"S-Sir!" I gasped, unable to escape the hold that threatened to break my arm. My eyes filled with tears and I slammed my fist down onto the mat.

"Stay down. You are a disgrace to the family name. You will practice for double the amount of time now. Is that clear?"